


matcha lattes

by animosities



Category: Griefer Belt (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 02:30:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20400217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animosities/pseuds/animosities
Summary: Scott is nice. Seong is suspicious.





	matcha lattes

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this in my head forever and i realised it can only exist if i make it, which honestly is very unfair of the universe

It begins slowly.

Seong doesn’t notice the cup placed by his elbow as he flicks through news articles on his tablet. A few minutes pass before Jemma nudges it closer to him. He shoots her a confused glance and she looks pointedly down to the cup. Upon closer inspection, he sees that it’s from the café down the road—the one owned by cheerful older lady who always tells Seong about her wife as he decides what to order—and has his name scrawled on the side.

“Oh, thanks,” he says, picking it up to sip carefully at it. It’s cooled enough that he needn’t be too cautious with it. Brows arch in quiet surprise as he savours the taste. It’s a matcha latte with all of his various preferred alterations; no one’s ever gotten his order right before. Jemma must have been paying attention.

“I didn’t get it. Scott did.”

Seong straightens in his chair, the beginnings of a frown forming at his lips. Why does _Scott_ know his coffee order? “What? When? Why?”

Jemma fixes him with an amused smile and a look in her eye that he can’t quite decipher. “He got drinks for everyone in today. Probably lost a bet or something—or, y’know, he’s just nice.”

“He’s not _nice_,” Seong spits. Jemma snorts and doesn’t bother to reply. Seong goes back to his tablet, but he’s not spiteful enough to let the coffee go untouched.

* * *

He needs aspirin, a shot of expensive vodka, and a fucking _nap_.

Addie is fussing over Jemma, peppering kisses between concerned questions and swipes of antiseptic solution. A blush stains Jemma’s cheeks and a small, pleased smile stays at her lips through the stinging. Seong rolls his eyes and heads to the bathroom to clean up.

The mission hadn’t gone _wrong_, exactly, but its execution had been a far cry from the neat plan they’d hoped to enact. The target had backup, plenty of it. A simple long-range take out had devolved into a brutal up-close fight; they’d been told to leave no witnesses and they always do as they’re told.

Seong’s limbs ache with a bone-deep soreness that he hadn’t prepared for. He keeps his head held high and stride even as he walks to the bathroom, but slumps against the wall as soon as the door behind him closes. Two steadying breaths pass before he pushes himself to stand again and makes his way to the mirror. Blood and gore are spattered across his face and hair, and there’s no saving the uniform. He strips the upper half of it away, leaving his torso bare. He knows his ribs are intact but the mottled bruising that’s starting to show doesn’t make him feel much better.

He surveys his reflection critically and wills his mind to focus as his ears still ring from a gunshot that had fired mere millimetres from his head. There’s a gash that carves a path from outer shoulder to inner clavicle, almost perfectly tracing the line of his collarbone, and a truly impressive blackened bruise wraps around his shoulder and upper arm; at least it’s not dislocated anymore, he thinks. Some ginger probing about his hairline yields the discovery of a nasty head wound that has yet to stop bleeding. He scowls at the mess of crimson smeared about his face and ducks his head under the running water to clear some of it away.

His head snaps up as the door behind him opens. He blinks the water from his eyes and glares at the reflection. Scott holds up his hands in a show of surrender. It takes longer than he’d like to admit for Seong to register the plastic, green box Scott’s holding as a peace-offering.

“Come to gloat?”

Scott takes that as invitation to walk closer. Seong wishes he hadn’t; he doesn’t have the energy for this. “Just to help.”

“I don’t need help; I got this.”

Scott shrugs. “Still,” he says, and places the first aid kit on the counter by Seong.

He turns to leave and Seong feels inexplicably grateful that he hadn’t tried to push it any further. Just as Scott’s about to slip through the door, he asks, “Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Lars in?”

Scott shakes his head, says, “Hasn’t been in all day,” and leaves.

Seong tries not to feel too disappointed.

* * *

The thing about working with Lars is that it’s become so much of a rarity that Seong finds himself on cloud nine up to the moment that the cloud starts raining—literally and figuratively—and he finds himself sodden and stranded.

Lars leads a bizarre life that only the most loyal can keep up with. When a mysterious man in a sleek, dark car with tinted windows rolls up and tells Lars to come along, it shouldn’t be so much of a surprise that Lars would hop in with nothing but a brief, flashed grin for Seong and disappear into the night.

And, of course, that’s when it starts raining.

Seong tugs the hood of his Griefer uniform back up and takes a moment to feel truly pitiful before he starts the long trek home. Public transport is out of the question—it’s so late at night that he supposes it actually counts as very early morning—and he’d call for a taxi but he doesn’t particularly feel like explaining the bloodstains. He could call one of his colleagues but he doesn’t want to explain how Lars left him abandoned with no ride home.

Ten minutes into his walk, a car slows to a stop beside him. Seong keeps his head down and carries on, watching the vehicle from the corner of his eye. The driver’s window rolls down and Scott calls for him, voice drowned by the downpour. Seong pauses in his step and evaluates just how petty he’s willing to be in this moment. The fabric of his uniform clings to him and he can no longer feel his extremities. In the interest of self-preservation, he walks to the car and hops into the passenger seat.

The first thing he notices is _warmth_. Scott has the heating on high and all the air vents blasting hot air towards Seong. Secondly, he notices a thick towel draped over the fabric of his seat, soaking up the wet patch he leaves.

“Did Lars send you?” he asks as Scott indicates to pull away from the curb.

“Not exactly,” Scott replies. “He called to say he’s in a meeting and to pick him up at five. I figured he probably left you without a ride.”

Something painful twists in Seong’s chest.

He rests his head against the window as Scott navigates through empty streets. He only knows he’s fallen asleep when he feels a gentle pressure against his bad shoulder. He winces and brushes off Scott’s apology.

The car stands still, pulled over outside a familiar building. Seong will question how Scott knows where he lives some other time. For now, all he can do is give a mumbled thanks and slip from the car back into the cold rain.

* * *

The next week Scott drops by his apartment on Addie’s orders to check Seong’s flu hasn’t claimed him like some sickly Victorian child too feeble to last through winter. The snapped analogy makes Scott chuckle and he leaves the soup and painkillers behind with the promise to tell Addie he’s doing fine on his own.

The next week Scott texts him to say there’s leftover pizza in the communal refrigerator if he wants it; besides, no one else likes pineapple on pizza.

The next week Seong complains that he broke his phone charger. Scott comes back from lunch with a new cable for him and a cup of matcha latte.

* * *

“I don’t _get_ it, what’s he playing at?”

Jemma rolls her eyes as she hands him a pile of shirts to fold. She's been dealing with this particular argument for too long. “He’s a nice guy.”

“But what does he _want_?”

With a sigh, Jemma closes the lid to the dryer and hops on top to join Seong in his perch. “Hypothetically, if this was Lars and he was giving you gifts, what would you think?”

Seong pauses briefly. “That he likes me?”

“Bingo. Favours are Scott’s gift. He’s a giver.” She rolls her eyes yet again at Seong’s quiet snort and shoves him. “Not like _that_. Well—I will neither confirm nor deny what Addie has passed on from Lars.”

Seong scrunches his nose. Hearing about Lars’s other exploits always leaves him feeling a little queasy.

“Anyway, you just need to stop getting so caught up in thinking he has an ulterior motive. Sometimes people just notice you need a hand and will help you out. Not everyone’s out to get you.”

Seong considers her words, brows furrowed in a frown. “But this is Scott.”

“No offence, but you need to stop thinking you and Scott have some huge rivalry. He’s obviously not on the same page as you, and it’s pretty amazing he keeps getting you coffee even though you’re a brat about it.”

“I’m not a brat.”

Jemma grins. “You kind of are.”

Seong has no reply to that and silence falls between them. Jemma moves to resume sorting through the laundry and doesn’t attempt to pull her partner from his thoughts and force him into folding uniforms.

“I don’t get it.”

Jemma looks up at his murmured statement. A sadness darkens her eyes as she offers a small smile. “You don’t need to get it. Sometimes nice things happen, and sometimes you need to know that not all good things in your life come from Lars.”

* * *

Scott’s laughing at something the twins are saying, gaze flicking between them as they bicker. Seong watches idly on as he stirs his iced coffee with the straw. (He has no idea how Scott knows his iced coffee order too but he won't complain.) Jemma’s words play in his head like a record player caught in a loop. Scott glances over and catches Seong’s eyes; he offers a lopsided grin and a shrug, as if to convey that he doesn’t know what the twins are talking about either. Seong looks away. He hadn’t been watching the twins.

Eventually Dallas and Harley wander off, leaving Scott and Seong alone in the break room. Scott stands to rinse out his coffee mug at the sink and Seong eyes him as his back is turned. He shouldn’t be surprised that Scott catches him staring again.

“You okay?”

Seong nods and draws his gaze away.

“How’s the shoulder?”

“Fine,” he replies, rolling his shoulders as if to prove a point. It still twinges at times but he’s suffered much worse.

“I restocked the ice packs in the freezer if you need one,” Scott says, and with that, he heads out. Seong watches him leave. He still doesn’t get it.

* * *

Seong shields his cigarette from the blasts of wind, huffing every time his lighter fails him. It sparks pathetically with every attempt and the occasional flame it yields is snuffed before Seong can light up. He’s about to give up and head back inside when a hand appears from behind him and lights his cigarette for him. Seong glances over his shoulder. Scott smirks around his own cigarette and lights it on his first try.

“… Thanks.”

Scott nods at him and leans against the wall, taking a deep drag. Seong watches his lips work as he exhales the smoke.

A gust of wind blows against them both and Seong huddles deeper within his oversized hoody for warmth. He hadn’t thought to grab a coat before heading out. If Scott notices his shivers, he says nothing. If Seong’s being honest, he’s glad; he’s getting a little sick of looking vulnerable around him.

Minutes pass in silence. Scott finishes his smoke first, dropping the butt to the floor and putting it out with the toe of his shoe. Seong glances down to his own shoes, a pair of black sneakers that are far less flashy than the shoes Lars bought him. He hasn’t worn them in a while; he can’t really remember where he last put them.

“See ya,” Scott says, pushing off from the wall.

“Wait—”

Scott pauses, and turns to Seong, brows raised. Seong hadn’t meant to say it; he’s not sure where he wanted to go from there.

“You…” Seong scowls at himself and huffs a sigh. He flicks his half-spent cigarette to the ground and watches it continue to smoke. “I don’t need your help.”

Scott nods. “I know.”

“You—what do you mean _you know_?”

Scott offers a shrug in reply.

“I don’t—I’m not some lost cause, or whatever. You don’t need to help me. Unless you’re trying to get something, in which case I don’t—I don’t want to owe you favours.”

Scott watches him with a wary stare. “You don’t owe me anything. I don’t want anything.”

“Then what are you _doing_?!”

The shout shocks them both. Seong takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Seong…” Scott starts carefully, as if talking down a crazed animal. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Seong gapes wordlessly for a moment. “You—you keep _doing things_ and—and getting me coffee and giving me rides and…”

“Seong, that’s not me trying to get something from you.”

“Then what is it?”

Scott, infuriatingly, shrugs again. “Just—being nice, I guess.”

“Why?”

Scott has no reply for him. At least he doesn’t shrug again.

Seong huffs and decides he’s made enough of an ass of himself for the day. He pushes past Scott to head back inside; maybe he can convince someone to spar with him and take his mind off things.

Scott grabs his wrist as he passes. His grip is gentle but it brings Seong to a halt all the same. Seong shakes him off but Scott only grabs him again, hooking his fingers through the belt loops of Seong’s jeans to reel him closer. There’s a moment of hesitation, of a searching gaze waiting for protest, before Scott captures Seong’s lips with his own. The kiss is brief, a soft press of lips with undoubting tenderness that makes Seong’s heart ache. Scott pulls away after a moment, but only just; he’s still close enough that Seong’s eyes can’t focus on his expression. He wants to question this, to pry motives from Scott, to understand what he wants, but _fuck it_, he decides.

He pulls Scott in again, harder, needier. Hands loop about Scott’s neck and fingers twine in his shaggy locks. He vies for control but Scott is two steps ahead of him. His lips part under Scott’s careful ministrations, and he doesn’t notice them moving until his back is pressed again a brick wall. He distantly realises their position shields him from the battering wind; he’s not shivering anymore.

Hands at his hips squeeze and deft fingers duck under his layers of clothing to press crescent moons into his skin. He gasps into the kiss and Scott pulls them ever closer together.

It’s over sooner than he’d like. He chases Scott’s lips as he pulls away. Scott presses a kiss to his forehead with a chuckle.

“We need to get back inside.”

Seong won’t admit to being kissed breathless, but he can’t muster the energy to reply verbally so nods instead. Scott steps back, away from Seong’s space, and hesitates for a moment. He reaches out to tangle his fingers with Seong’s and leads them back inside.

Addie's position at the counter has been vacated. Seong glances about the empty store and pulls Scott aside, ducking behind a rack of plaid shirts.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

Scott smiles. “No.”

Seong nods, not quite meeting his gaze. “Come over.”

There’s a longer pause than he’d like; Scott aught to jump at the chance to sleep with him.

“No.” Before Seong can argue, he continues, “But we could go for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, it’s the meal people eat in the evening.”

Seong shoves him. “I know what dinner is, moron. I mean, _why_ dinner?”

“Because I’d like to take you on a date.” His statement is met by stunned silence. Scott swoops in to enact damage control before anything too drastic can happen. “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine. I could come over but I’m just saying there’s another option.”

Seong considers this, and then slowly nods. “Okay. That works.” He tries to ignore the way Scott’s expression lights up and the butterflies it awakens in his stomach. “Pick me up at seven?” Scott nods with a smile that feels far too intimate for them to both be fully clothed.

Before he can think about it too strongly one way or the other, Seong rocks up onto his toes and presses a kiss to Scott’s cheek before strolling off to find the other Griefers.

“And don’t even _think_ about taking me somewhere that doesn’t have a dress code,” he throws over his shoulder, and pretends to not smile when he hears Scott laugh.


End file.
